User blog:Beauhunt III/The Imprisonment of Turatamo
This is a short, gothic story that I had to write for English I. These events are based off of the Tales of Ea Server, with a change or two. The Imprisonment of Turatamo My Eyes had opened. Sweet dreams had given way to darkness. It was deathly cold, as if some fell wind kept the sun away. My eyes having adjusted, I looked around the bleak barren block shaped room. The cracked bricks only stared back, reminding me of my hopeless situation. I was very confused, since I had somehow found myself in a nightmare. But I don’t remember nightmares being this detailed… Suddenly, a hidden door opened, revealing many Orcs, who quickly filled the room. My ears throbbed after the gloomy silence that encased every other sound had shattered. Having seen my carcass, they cursed in their foul toungue as they lifted me, carrying me out of the small, dark crypt of a box. The journey that they provided was one of the many ‘services’ that they offered me. It was all very ‘pleasurable,’ being tossed about in the mist of that horde. With ‘hands of an angle,’ they ‘gently carried’ me to the destination with ‘not a scratch nor a flesh wound.’ We finally arrived, coming through a ruined arch into a throne room. It must have been great in its day, but most of the framework had collapsed, offering a nice view of the Hill of Sorcery. Suddenly, it clicked: I had been brought to the accursed fortress known as Dol Guldur. The shock of this realization nearly caused me to faint… not for the last time. Dol Guldur is basically an old fortress that was a place of terror, being ran by the Dark Lord’s second in command. All who came in duing that time never came out. After his defeat in the second age, The abandoned fortress had fallen into ruin, becoming a pile of haunted rubble. Aparrantly, someone decided to reoccupy it. But who… My thought was interrupted as a shadow entered the room. “Welcome,” sounded a voice, dark and grim. The orcs cowered at his voice, with a shriek or two escaping their foul throats. He continued, “I see that you have rested well.” “As well as one can under the circumstances.” Responded Turatamo, who was looking for possible ways of escaping. “That’s fair. It’ll be your last fair sleep” Following the remark was a maniacal laugh, which sent chills through the air. The orcs croaked their deafening laugh. Such clamor had not reflected on the ruined stonework since the Great War in which the Dark Lord fell. “I say, your stay here will be… a great honor.” And with that, he left, his cloak of night concealing his true heart and soul. It was a bit of a courtesy to the Orcs, if it could be called that. His soul was so hot and powerful that just the sight of him with no protection (for orcs) would cause them to burn. But this is beside the point. So, with the laughter of Dachir wafting through the stale air, the Orcs carried me away, in their fashion. At this time, I lost all sense of time, space, feeling. I became lost, naked in the darkness where loneliness is the only thing I knew. And so I passed from the old throne room to the Chamber… My eyes opened, seeing a faint star in the distance. I loved stars, same as my Elven friends. Used to, I would lay on the fair grass at night with my friends, speculating on the name of stars and other such activities. But, as a leaf falls from its tree, the fair vision passed. I was back in the ruined fortress, surrounded by a host of iron and other apparatuses. “This is a nice surprise.” Said the familiar voice. “I hope that you were not mistreated.” “Thanks for your consideration. Could you do me one favor and tell me what in Arda I am surrounded by?” Giving a low chuckle, he said, “You are part of a selected few to be tested in this machine of mine. Do you see the picture frames over there?” He asked, gesturing towards a small collection of photos and trinkets. “This… is part of my life’s work.” I looked over towards the small collection, and to my horror, I saw the pictures of elves in pastel form. For the sake of not being vulgar, I shall not describe to you how distorted and in pain they were portrayed. These images are the things that shall not be easily mended by time, unfortunately. “This machine is built to corrupt life forms of all the races that populate Arda.” Glancing in my general direction, he added, “This shall add untold strength to the creature, giving it the strength of Barlogs. Yes, even as strong as the Barlogs of Old.” “I hate to interrupt,” I politely began, but my efforts at being sincere only earned me a blank stare from my captor. Oblivious, I continued, saying, “I have been confused. Your goal is to turn me into a dark elf?” He opened his mouth to speak, but he paused, and then carefully considered this point. After what felt like an eternity, he finally answered, “That is what I am testing. I have only to successfully corrupt you, and then I shall finally be prepared to take over every living creature. Are you ready?” Looking about the area, I merely mumbled, “It looks like I don’t have much of a choice.” With a wicked flame in his eyes, he began his work. After just an hour of physical torture, (I cannot describe this without undergoing the possibility of being sued and suspended from school,) I was only smiling. Despite all the cuts and blood, my only remark was, “Tis only a flesh wound.” Enraged by all the references that he could not understand, Dachir took a blade from the nearest orc, and was about to simply kill me. I may or may not be grateful, but a Devilish expression overcame his face. “I see your mind,” He said with a chuckle. “You have an outstanding capacity for taking so many wounds. But, your mind is not so strong. Let’s begin with that torture.” And with that, my misery began. At first, I was able to resist, but hope faded like the rocks on the shore. It was one of the worst moments in my life, since I heard his voice and saw him in my head. Indeed, he was in my head, and all I could do was writhe as his soft words tore me up as a butcher would a pig. It was a battle of wits, and one Turatamo was quickly loosing. He was oh so close to succeeding. Turatamo had already shown signs of turning, with pale skin, darkening eyes, and other things that are too foul to describe. Just then, a She Orc screamed as the Arrow entered one of the guards. An army of Elves of Lothlorien had arrived. Diverted from his work, Dachir fled so he would not be discovered. The Elves efficiently and effectively broke in, stormed the Forsaken Tower, and rescued an unconscious, nearly corrupted Turatamo. But the wise Elves knew he was not yet corrupt, for his eyes had not yet completely darkened. After awakening, I found myself in a luxurious room, with the golden leaves making me think of a dream. My life has been wonderful, and is still, to some extent. You can never truly go back to the life you once had. To this day, I have been called Turatamo the Wearied, for though I had been freed and much time has passed, I still see Dachir in my sleep. Category:Blog posts